Navigating a Life
by Lihau
Summary: Chekov's first few days on the Enterprise are not going very well. At all. Chapter 12: The end is near! No... the end is HERE! Final chapter up.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Fine. I admit it. I don't own Star Trek: TOS or any other Stars or Treks.

**Note:** This is my very first Star Trek FanFic (awwwww), so please pardon me if anyone seems too out of character. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it!

**Randomness:** I frequently type "Star Trek: TOC" instead of "Star Trek: TOS", for whatever reason, so excuse me if I ever type that. (sheepish grin) I also sometimes accidentally type "Neopest" instead of "Neopets" when I'm trying to get to the site of the same name (Neopets, that is, not Neopest). But you didn't really need to know that... ON WITH THE STORY!!! (dramatically pulls curtain aside)

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter One, Day One

"Er… excuse me, ma'am?" Ensign Pavel Chekov began timidly. He mentally kicked himself. An accent was fine and dandy—especially a Russian one—but when even _you_ couldn't understand what you'd just said, it was time to try harder to ditch the accent. "Excuse me, ma'am?" Chekov repeated, hoping that he'd be understood this time.

"Yes?" The dark-skinned woman turned to face the young ensign.

"Ma'am… ahm… I mean… ah… _Lieutenant_… vould you be able to tell me, please, to vhere is the nearest turbolift?" Chekov frowned at himself, lecturing his own poor English. He really should have paid more attention in the English course back at Starfleet Academy.

"Pardon?"

"Ahm… the… vhere is…." Chekov furrowed his brow. "Uh… turbolift?" he finished feebly, nearly pleading.

"Oh, the turbolift," the lieutenant nodded in comprehension. "Just down the corridor. You're new here, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am—ah, _Lieutenant_." Why couldn't all senior officers just be called 'sir' or 'ma'am'? That was much easier to pronounce than was 'Lieutenant'. There were just too many darned vowels crammed into that one word.

The lieutenant smiled. "Don't hurt yourself, Ensign. It's 'Uhura'." Chekov nodded, a bit embarrassed at being barely able to pronounce a run-of-the-mill rank term. "What's your name, and where are you posted?"

"Ensign Chekov, ma'am—ah, _Lieutenant_—ahm, Uhura." Chekov exhaled in an attempt to relax before continuing. "Nawigator, alpha shift—the bridge."

"Mm," Uhura acknowledged. "I'm alpha shift's communications officer. I guess I'll see you around the bridge, then. You're Russian, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel more comfortable speaking in Russian?"

"Yes."

Uhura smiled. She said in Russian, "Welcome aboard, Chekov." When Chekov looked surprised, Uhura chuckled, "I'm communications officer, aren't I? I have to know a lot of languages." Chekov grinned. "How about I help you brush up on your English?"

"Yes, please."

"Alright, then. I'll meet you in the mess hall after my shift. Later," Uhura waved.

Finally, something was going right. Poor Chekov had been wandering the halls of deck D—or was it deck E?—for at least an hour, completely lost. Now he walked down the hall and smiled again in relief. After stepping into the turbolift, he said, "Deck F," as the doors shut. Deck F. His new home; it was the deck with his quarters—his own private quarters. No roommate as in the Academy.

The turbolift stopped at deck E to accept another passenger. A gold-shirt entered the turbolift and said, "Deck C."

"Good morning, sair," Chekov greeted the lieutenant respectfully as the turbolift doors closed. He recognized the black-haired man from when he was shown the bridge.

The lieutenant smiled and turned to Chekov. Suddenly frowning, he nodded stiffly and said, "Ensign."

_Vhat did I do?_ Chekov thought. "Am I in trouble?"

"No," was the brief, crisp reply.

The turbolift doors opened and Chekov left the 'lift, still wondering what he'd done wrong. He shrugged and went into his quarters. Checking the clock, Chekov noted that he had about an hour to kill before meeting Lt. Uhura in the mess hall.

-

Chekov left his quarters half an hour later, wanting plenty of time to find the mess hall. He stepped into the turbolift and guessed, "Deck… B?" The turbolift doors closed, then opened again a few moments later. The ensign walked down the hall, looked into a room, and sighed. Well, at least he'd found engineering.

"Ahm, sair?" Chekov said to a red-shirted man who seemed to be in charge of things.

"Aye, laddie?" the red-shirt replied with a heavy Scottish brogue.

"To vhere is the… mess hall?" Chekov couldn't understand why they called the mess hall the _mess_ hall, instead of the eating hall. _Maybe because there is a big mess after eweryvon has finished eating?_ he guessed silently.

The Scotsman chuckled. "Ye really are lost, aren'tcha?"

"Yes, sair," Chekov admitted.

"Well, I s'pose ye cen see that this is engineering—the heart of me lass."

"'Lass'?" Unless he was mistaken, 'lass' meant 'girl'. _He must haf a wery strange girlfriend,_ Chekov decided.

"The _Enterprise_ is what most people call her," the red-shirt sighed. "But she is really a lass—a very special lass at that. I'm Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott, Chief Engineer, but most people call me 'Scotty'. And what is your name, lad?"

"Ensign Pavel Chekov, sair."

"Ah, Chekov," Scotty nodded. "The cap'n told me a bit about ye. You're his new navigator for the alpha shift, aye?"

"Yes, sair," Chekov said, hoping that the captain hadn't told Scotty anything about him that was too terrible.

Scotty nodded again. "Ye wanted ta get ta the mess hall, now, lad?" Chekov confirmed this with a quick nod. "Well, now, I'm goin' there meself, so I'll show ye the way."

"Thank you, sair."

On the way to the turbolift, Scotty asked, "Do ye have any questions about me lass or her crew?"

"Only von, sair," Chekov said slowly.

"Yes? An' jus' call me 'Scotty'."

"Yes, sa—Scotty. _Lieutenant_ Sulu… he does not… Mr. Sulu, he…." Chekov sighed and started again. "Mr. Sulu… the helmsman… vhy does he doesn't like me?" The ensign sighed again. Even _he_ knew that that was terrible English—and even worse grammar. At least he was on his way to his first English lesson with Lt. Uhura.

"Sulu?" Scotty seemed surprised. They stepped into the turbolift and Scotty said, "Deck E," before continuing. "Sulu?" he repeated. "Sulu dinna like ye?"

"I don't think so," Chekov shook his head.

"Hmm…" mused Scotty. "I think I know why. You see, lad, Sulu is very good friends with O'Neil, the former alpha shift navigator. He prob'ly dinna think that anyone cen take O'Neil's place." The turbolift stopped at deck E and Scotty continued. "Just give him time—he'll warm up ta ye with time."

"'Varm up'?" Chekov echoed.

"It's an idiom."

"I haf heard of those," Chekov nodded.

"It means… well…." Scotty tried to elaborate. "Och, I dinna know how ta explain it, laddie. Ah, here is the mess hall. Are ye eating with anyone?"

"_Lieutenant_ Uhura," Chekov told him.

"A wonderful lass. I'll see ye later, lad. Jest come to engineering anytime you need help findin' your way around me lass," Scotty offered. He walked off toward one of the replicators.

Chekov scanned the mess hall and finally spotted Uhura sitting at one of the tables. She waved him over and called, "Chekov!" over the din of the lunch-time crowd. The navigator started toward the table, but tripped over someone's foot and sprawled to the floor. Several crewmembers, not noticing the poor ensign until it was too late, accidentally stepped on Chekov or bumped their feet against him. There were several mumbled apologies to him and Uhura quickly made her way over to Chekov.

"Chekov, are you alright?" Uhura asked as she pulled the ensign to his feet.

Scotty, passing by with a tray of replicated food on his way back to Engineering, put his tray on a table and came over to where Uhura was hauling Chekov to his feet. "What happened, lad?" he asked Chekov.

"He practically got trampled," Uhura explained. "If you feel half as bad as you look, Chekov, you'd better go to Sickbay."

"Sickbay?" Chekov echoed. "As in… _hospital_?"

"Essentially. Are you okay?"

"_Da_, I'm good," Chekov nodded quickly.

"Ye don' look so good ta me, laddie," Scotty commented. "Let's take 'im to Sickbay," he added to Uhura.

"_Nyet_, no, I'm good," Chekov insisted. Uhura and Scotty, however, decided that it would be best if they let Dr. Leonard McCoy take a look at the ensign, so they each took one of his arms and steered him to Sickbay. "I'm good," Chekov continued to protest, even as they dragged him into Sickbay.

McCoy looked up from his console and greeted the trio with, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing wrong," Chekov declared. "I'm good. Good-bye." He tried to worm his way out of Uhura and Scotty's grasp, but didn't succeed.

"Why is it that nobody likes coming to Sickbay?" McCoy demanded in exasperation. "Even Jim, our courageous captain, misses his physicals if he thinks there's half a chance of me not noticing."

"Mos'ly they dinna like comin' ta Sickbay 'cause it means they're sick," Scotty quipped, helping Uhura set Chekov down on the edge of a biobed. "The poor lad was trampled in the mess hall," he told McCoy.

"Trampled?" McCoy raised an eyebrow. Realizing what he'd just done, the doctor groaned and mumbled something like, "The Vulcan must be getting to me."

"I don't know exactly what happened," Uhura admitted, "but I think Chekov tripped over something. That's how everybody ended up stepping on him."

McCoy gave Chekov a quick examination, ending with, "A few bumps and bruises. You'll live."

"I know, sair," Chekov said. "I did not ewen vant to come to here."

"Just change your uniform and you'll be good to go."

"To vhere?" Chekov asked.

"What?"

"To vhere vill I be 'good to go' to?"

"It's an expression," McCoy explained impatiently. "Don't tell me I'm going to have to explain every single little idiom to you the way I have to to old pointy-ears!"

"More idiom? Vhy must eweryvon use so many idiom?"

"Get used to it, kid," McCoy sighed. "Now, you're cluttering up Sickbay. Out! All three of you."

"I get the feelin' ye aren't in a good mood t'day," Scotty observed.

"No, in fact I'm in a very _bad_ mood," McCoy stated. "Now, shoo!"

"Shoo?" Chekov looked at his feet. He then looked up and said, "Two shoe."

McCoy moaned. "OUT!"

"Alright, alright, ye dinna need ta shout," Scotty shook his head.

"See you later, Doctor," Uhura waved. "Let's go, Chekov."

-

"Now," Uhura said patiently. "What is this?" she asked the ensign, pointing to a picture of a glass of water.

"Vater?" Chekov guessed hopefully.

"_Water_," Uhura pronounced.

"_Vater_," repeated Chekov.

"No, no, no, not 'vater'—_water_. _Wah_-ter."

"_Vah_-ter," Chekov said slowly.

"Well, that's enough for today," Uhura sighed. "You mostly need to work on your pronunciation."

"How could I improof it?" Chekov asked.

"Just changed all your V's to W's, and all your W's to V's."

"Vhat?"

Uhura sighed again. Her patience was beginning to wear thin. "Forget it."

"Forget vhat?"

"Never mind what I just said," the communications officer clarified.

"Oh. _Da_," Chekov nodded. "Thank you _wery_ much for your help, Uhura. It _vas_ _wery_ good of you to help me _vith_ my English," Chekov said with a cheeky grin.

"Impertinent, aren't you?" Uhura chuckled. "Well, anyone that sasses me must be on a first-name basis—I'm Nyota."

"Imp-pair-tin-ant? Sass? Basis?" Chekov frowned in concentration. "Vhat do that vords mean?" Uhura quickly translated the vords—I mean words. "Oh, _da_. I am Pavel."

"Alright, then," Uhura smiled. "See you later, Pasha."

Pavel grinned. "_Da_. See you later."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: If I owned them (which I don't, incidentally), do you _really_ think I would be writing fan fiction?

**P**avel **C**hekov:

Navigating a Life

Chapter Two, Day Two

"Chart course for Gamma XV; warp three."

"Aye, sir."

"Aye, sair…. Course charted."

Captain Kirk looked at Chekov in surprise. "Already?"

"Yes, sair."

Kirk smiled. Did he have an eye for good navigators or what?

-

Chekov looked around the jam-packed mess hall, searching for an empty table to eat at. Not seeing any empty tables, he saw Uhura and Scotty sitting at an otherwise-empty table and walked over, hoping they wouldn't mind his company.

"Hi, Pasha," Uhura greeted him when he was a few steps away from the table. "Want to sit with us?"

"If you don't mind," Chekov said.

"We don' mind ah-tall, laddie," Scotty assured him.

There was a mumble from the other side of the table and, for the first time, Chekov realized that Lt. Sulu was also sitting there. "Good afternoon, sair," Chekov said.

"Ensign," Sulu returned gruffly.

"Hello," a short gray-haired man said cheerfully, sitting down next to Sulu.

"Hi, Jack," Sulu replied enthusiastically.

"Pavel, this is Lieutenant Commander O'Neil," Uhura said. "He's alpha shift's former navigator—Jack'll be beaming down at the next station to go back to Earth for retirement."

"So, you're the new navigator," O'Neil began. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likevise, sair," Chekov said.

"I'm sure you and Hikaru will get along just fine," O'Neil continued, indicating Sulu. Sulu glowered at Chekov, while the latter swallowed hard and tried to ignore the glare. "Where are you from, Ensign?"

"Earth—Russia."

"I'm sure you'll find Starfleet life very rewarding."

"I'm sure I vill, sair."

"Would you people mind if I sit here?" McCoy asked. Kirk was eating in his quarters, and the good doctor definitely didn't feel like sitting with the 'green-blooded android'.

"After the way ye barked at us yesterday," Scotty said, "I dinna know. Nice fellow I am, though, I'll forget about that an' let ye sit here."

"I'll be eternally grateful," McCoy said sarcastically as he sat down on Sulu's other side. "Afternoon, Jack. Looking forward to retirement?"

"Actually, yes," O'Neil nodded. "After seventy-five years of service, I'd say this old bucket o' creaky bones is ready to relax."

"Where on Earth are you going to settle?" Uhura asked.

"I have my eye on a nice little spot in the forests of Oregon," O'Neil said thoughtfully. "Always wanted to have a primitive little cabin somewheres in the woods."

"When I can finally retire, I'm going to Georgia," McCoy declared with an exaggerated Southern drawl.

"I dinna have me retirement plans ready yet," Scotty said. "I'm jest plannin' on goin' wherever me lass goes."

"Ewen the scrap-heap?" Chekov asked innocently. Scotty pretended to be mad for a moment before he gave in and laughed with the others.

"I haven't really thought of retirement," Sulu shrugged. "Maybe I'll just wander through space for the rest of my life and die heroically—victim of a Klingon attack."

Everyone chuckled again as Sulu clutched dramatically at his heart, and Uhura admitted, "I haven't thought about retirement yet, either. Do you have any plans yet, Pavel?"

"Me? No. I haf no plan…." Chekov grinned sheepishly. "I haf no plan for _retirement_," he corrected himself. "But von day I am hoping to be Starship keptin."

"Ambitious, aren't you?" Uhura smiled.

"_Da_," Chekov conceded. "Wery _ambitious_."

"Just don't let that ambition turn to ego," McCoy warned with a chuckle.

"Ego?"

"Just think Jim's personality and you've got it," McCoy snickered, eating a forkful of his replicated steak. Everyone except Chekov snickered along with McCoy.

"Got vhat? Vhich Jim? The ensign? Engineer?"

"The cap'n," Scotty clarified. "That lad has an ego as big as me lass."

"Bigger," O'Neil put in.

"Isn't talking of the keptin like ve are now called a… mu… mu… mutton… mutin… _mutiny_?" Chekov asked.

"Not ah-tall, lad," Scotty said quickly.

"It's called 'having an opinion'," Uhura added.

"I haf _opinion_ about _replicated_ Russian food," Chekov decided. He pushed back his tray and said, "Yuck." Everyone laughed and Chekov grinned, taking a sip of water.

"And what is your opinion about the water?" O'Neil chuckled.

"Vater is fine. But I do not vant to think about Wodka they haf here."

O'Neil laughed again and patted Chekov's arm from across the table. "Keep up with the opinions and you'll go places, kid."

"Go vhere places?"

"We have to learn not to use idioms on this guy," McCoy sighed.

"Doctor," Chekov said slowly, "somevon vas talking to me about you earlier. Vhat is 'cranky old coot'?"

This brought a new peal of laughter from the table, Chekov not understanding why, McCoy silently fuming. "And who, pray tell, were you talking to?" McCoy wanted to know.

"Mr. Spock."

The laughter immediately ceased. "Mister—" McCoy said, mouth open. He then broke into loud laughter. "I'll never let Mr. Emotionless forget this!" the doctor hooted. "I'm going to go dig him up right now!"

"Vhy? Vas he buried?" Chekov asked just as McCoy stood up.

McCoy sat down again. "It means I'm going to go _find_ him, o_kay_?"

"Yes, sair."

"Good." McCoy grinned again and picked up his tray, standing to go 'dig up' the first officer. "Later, folks."

-

Later that day, Chekov still hadn't found out what a 'cranky old coot' was, other than the fact that it was obviously very funny. After recharting the course for Gamma XV, he asked Sulu, "Sair, vhat is a 'cranky old coot'?"

"Ask Uhura," Sulu grunted, trying very hard not to smile and not quite succeeding.

Chekov nodded and decided that the question could wait until alpha shift ended—which would be less than fifteen minutes. After the shift ended, Chekov was about to ask Uhura his question, but was stopped by the captain.

"Ensign, could I see you for a minute?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, sair." Chekov followed Kirk to rec room two and sat down when he was told to.

"Now," Kirk grinned, "what's all this about cranky old coots?"

"I do not know, sair," Chekov admitted. "I haf been trying to ask vhat 'cranky old coot' is since Mr. Spock said it."

Kirk's smile widened. "Then Spock _did_ call Bones a cranky old coot?"

"No, sair. He called Doctor McCoy 'cranky old coot'."

"Bones is McCoy's nickname," Kirk explained. "It's true, then?"

"Yes, sair." The captain started laughing and Chekov frowned. He wished that he could understand what was so funny about 'cranky old coot'. "Sair, vhat does 'cranky old coot' mean?" the ensign finally asked once Kirk's laughing fit had ended.

"It means a grouchy person," Kirk chuckled.

"'Grouchy', sair?"

"Bad-tempered."

"Oh." Chekov furrowed his brow. "Vhat is so funny about that, sair?"

"_Spock_ said it," Kirk stated, as though that would clear up the whole thing.

"Excuse me for say so, sair," Chekov said slowly, "but I do not see vhat is funny about that."

"Spock's a Vulcan… no sense of humor… emotionless…." Realizing that Chekov still didn't get it, Kirk sighed and said, "Forget it. You'll understand it someday."

"I hope I vill, sair. Is there anything else you vanted to be asking, sair?"

"No… Chekov, was it?"

"Yes, sair. Ensign Chekov."

"That's all, Chekov."

"Thank you, sair." Chekov saw Spock playing 3-D chess against the computer and decided to ask the Vulcan what was so strange about him saying 'cranky old coot'. "Sair?" he began.

"Yes, Mr. Chekov?" Spock answered. To the computer he added, "Checkmate."

"Vhat is so funny about you saying that the doctor vas 'cranky old coot', sair?"

"I do not know. Humor is a human emotional which I, as a Vulcan, am incapable of feeling."

"Oh. Vell, thank you anyvay."

"'Thank you'?" Spock quirked an eyebrow at Chekov. "I provided nothing of value to you, Ensign; therefore there is no logical reason for thanking me."

"I know, sair. I'm sorry, sair," Chekov said hurriedly, hoping he wouldn't get a lecture. "Good-bye, sair," he continued, backing away.

"It is not wise to walk backwards. There is a ninety-nine-point-nine—decimal repeating—chance that you will eventually back into something. The likelihood that you will back into a person before you do an object in this room is twenty-three-point-zero-six-five-seven."

"That is wery… _informatif_, sair," Chekov said. "Good-bye, sair." He turned around and quickly walked out of rec room four. "Phew," the ensign sighed once he was safely out of the rec room. "I vill newer say anything _illogical_ to Mr. Spock again!" he vowed.

-

"Now, what is the other way to say 'vacation' for a Starfleet officer?" Uhura asked. She was, once again, quizzing Chekov's English.

"Shore leaf," Chekov stated, proud at knowing this.

Uhura smiled. "Shore _leave_, not shore _leaf_. A leaf grows on a tree."

"I said that," Chekov insisted. "_Shore leaf_."

"_Leave_," Uhura pronounced for him.

"Vhat did I do?"

"What?"

"You just asked for me to leaf."

Uhura sighed. "Say '_shore leave_'."

"Shore leaf," Chekov shrugged.

"Let's try another phrase," Uhura suggested. "Let's try this: what is the name and identification number of this ship?"

"The U.S.S. Enterprise, N-double-C-dash-sewenteen-oh-von," Chekov smiled.

"The N-double-C-dash-_seven_teen-oh-_one_," Uhura corrected.

"But I said that," Chekov protested.

"Do you honestly hear no difference in 'seventeen' and '_sewen_teen'?"

"Of course I hear _difference_ in vords," Chekov said indignantly. "I just cannot _say_ it that vay," he explained.

"Say 'vay'."

"Way."

"You've got it," Uhura grinned. "Whenever you say a 'V', say it the way you'd say a 'W', and vice-versa."

"Wice-wersa?"

"Never mind. Forget it. You'll just have to live with the accent."

"Vhat is wrong vith accent?" Chekov demanded.

"Nothing," Uhura assured him.

"Good. Because Russian accent is wery good."

"I know, Pasha. I know."

"Vhen is next English lesson?"

"Tomorrow," Uhura said. "Same time, same place."

"Be there or be scvare," Chekov grinned.

"What did you say?"

"I say 'be there or be scvare'," Chekov repeated. "Doctor McCoy told it to me for tell him about 'cranky old coot'."

"Well, what do you know," Uhura chuckled. "The cranky old coot has a sense of humor, after all."

"'After all' of vhat?"

"Forget it."

"But I remember it."

"You know what I mean, Pavel," Uhura told him.

"Yes." Chekov smiled impishly. "I know."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own them.

**Note:** I'm so sorry that I took so long to update! My water bottle of inspiration has been empty for the past few weeks, and my well of inspiration has been dry since... since... actually, I've never had enough inspiration to have a _well_ of inspiration...

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter Three, Day Three

"Shore leaf?" Chekov asked.

"Aye," confirmed the engineer. "Most of the engineers get the day off. There were a few things I wanted to check today, though. Would you lads mind lendin' me a hand?"

Sulu glared at Chekov but nodded. "Sure. What do you need us to do?"

"Thank ye. It seems that there are a few wires comin' through the Jefferies tubes. Here's a map of the system." Scotty handed the document, set up in an electronic notepad (or whatever the heck it's called), to the helmsman.

The engineer explained, "I need ye to find the trouble areas and mark them down. I'd do it myself, but the transporters went crazy after my engineers were beamed down for their vacation."

"I heard about that," Chekov commented.

"Well, the keptin wants me to oversee the repair of that. It would save me a lot of time fixin' the problems with the Jefferies tube if the locations could be identified while I was workin' on the transporters."

"So we just have to look for exposed wires?" Sulu said.

"That's right. Find the 'xposed wires and plot their position on the map. It may take a while. Once you're finished, hang the map back on the wall. I'll come by later and put everythin' back where it belongs." Scotty patted his new engineering trainees on the shoulder before thanking them again and leaving.

"I guess ve should start," decided the ensign.

"Yeah. Come on." Sulu turned and led the way to the tubes. He then stopped and stepped aside. "You first. You find the exposed wires and I'll plot them on the map."

"_Da_."

Chekov walked into the cylindrical, vertical entrance to the tube and started up the ladder. While doing so, he glanced about, searching for any damaged spots. He continued searching, wondering just how long this stupid ladder was, anyhow.

His foot slipped a bit and he fell sideways, bracing himself with his right leg against one side of the tube and his left elbow against the other side; the ensign's right hand clutched tightly on the ladder and his left leg swung down, inadvertently kicking Sulu in the face. The lieutenant let go with one hand, the electronic notepad released from his grasp and clattering to the floor below.

Sulu emitted a disgruntled, pain-ridden moan and hissed, "Watch what you're—!"

"_EMERGENCY SYSTEM ACTIVATED… ALL EXITS SECURED_."

Both men instinctively looked up at the sound of the computerized speaker's blaring message.

"Oh…." Sulu cursed under his breath and demanded of Chekov, "What'd you do?!"

"I don't know," protested Chekov, half apologetically. "I must haf hit something vhile I was trying to stay on the ladder."

"Well, at least we still have the lights so that we can find the emergency control panel…"

Chekov nodded and started to follow Sulu down the ladder, only to slip on the same spot and bang his head against the wall. The blow dazed him, and the Russian completely let go of the ladder, falling down onto the lieutenant. Sulu, not expecting the sudden weight to fall onto him, lost his grip; both of them fell to the floor just as the computer made a new proclamation:

"…_LIGHTING OUT…_ _EMERGENCY CONTROL PANEL SYSTEMS OVERIDDEN_."

As soon as Sulu had gotten a hold of himself, he got a hold of the back of Chekov's shirt and pushed, demanding, "Get offa me."

"S-sorry," Chekov stuttered, apparently still a bit stunned as he slowly and unsteadily got to his feet.

Once he stood up himself and realized that the ensign didn't sound very well, Sulu asked, "You okay?"

"_Da_… o—oooohhhh," Chekov groaned, putting both hands to his head.

"I'll call for help," announced the lieutenant, taking out his communicator and flipping it open.

"Please do," muttered Chekov, leaning back against the ladder.

Sulu said into the device, "Sulu to Bridge."

Silence.

"Sulu to Bridge."

Silence.

"Darnit. It's broken. Give me yours. Maybe that one'll work."

Chekov, one hand still pressed against his forehead, reached for his communicator and held it out. Sulu felt around in the darkness before him for a second before finding Chekov's outstretched hand.

"Thanks." Sulu opened the comm unit and spoke into it. "Sulu to Bridge."

There was a bit of static before the captain's voice filled the tube.

"Kirk here."

"Captain. Lieutenant Sulu. Ensign Chekov and I seem to have hit the emergency system by accident, and we're stuck in here. Chekov's also hit his head. Can you spare Scotty for a few seconds to get us out?"

"…"

"Captain?"

"Scotty's… incapacitated at the moment. One of the engineering ensigns was helping him to fix the problem with the transporter and pulled a couple of wrong wires and… ended up… electrocuting… Scotty…"

"Is he alright?"

"He will be soon."

"How soon?"

"Bones said… roughly… five, six hours."

Sulu sighed. "How about another engineer? Can someone else help us?"

"I think so. Is it just the emergency system itself that you activated, or the emergency control panel, too?"

"Both."

"…"

Sulu barely refrained from sighing again. "What's wrong?"

"Scotty's the only one who has the code to reopen the emergency control panel memorized. The computer files with the codes are being reorganized, and a few were even lost by accident. I… think the emergency control panel code was—"

"One of the lost files," Sulu finished. _Yeah. Figures._

"I'm afraid so. We'll get you out of there as soon as possible, so just sit tight and let us know if something noteworthy happens."

"Yes, sir. Sulu out." The lieutenant flipped the communicator shut and turned to the general vicinity of the tube that he believed Chekov occupied. "Did you hear all that?"

"Yes, sair. It vill be fun being stuck in here vith you for the next few hours of my life."

"Couldn't agree with you more, ensign. Couldn't agree with you more."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** If I owned 'em, Kirk wouldn't be smooshed under a bridge.

**Chapter Summary:** This is the last switch... No, really! I swear it!

**Anonymous Review Reply, By Chekov:** Tic-tac-toe? It is too dark for "tic-tac-toe". I cannot see my own feet in here. Actually, it's so dark that I don't know how I read your rewiew so that I could reply to it. Vell, anyvay, here is an update.

**P**avel **C**hekov:

Navigating a Life

Chapter Four, Day Three

Sulu leaned back against the wall of the tube and slid down to sit on the floor. He sighed miserably, thinking that the ensign was going to owe him big for his errors. Changing his mind, the lieutenant shook his head. It _had_ been just an accident after all, and it would therefore be unfair to hold the situation against Chekov.

_I guess…_

"How're you holding up, Ensign?" asked Sulu.

"'Holding up'?" Chekov echoed. "Vell, not wery vell. I think I vill sit down." Sulu could hear a few soft noises as the Russian settled himself on the ground.

"I think I have some headache medicine in one of my pockets, if you want some," Sulu offered. "It won't cure anything, but it might make your head feel better."

"May I haf some, please?"

Sulu nodded, but then realized that this was pretty pointless, as his fellow crewmember probably couldn't see him. "Sure." After fingering his way through a few random objects, he finally came across the medicine and took out the small container. He removed a couple of capsules and held them out. "Here."

Chekov reached out and finally knocked his wrist against Sulu's hand, jerking the lieutenant's arm to one side and making the pills drop to the floor.

"I'm sorry," Chekov apologized upon hearing the soft click of medicine hitting metal.

With a quiet grunt, Sulu muttered, "There's more." He shook out two more capsules and ordered, "Hold out your hand."

The ensign did so and, using his empty hand, Sulu felt around in the air until he took a hold of Chekov's wrist. He placed the medicine into his fellow prisoner's hand and then folded his arms over his chest.

"Thank you, sair," said Chekov. Sulu shrugged.

Several minutes passed in silence before Chekov finally decided to speak again.

"Lt. Commander O'Neil seems happy to be retiring."

"Yeah," agreed Sulu.

"Maybe you should be happy for him, too?"

"I probably should."

"Vhy aren't you? You can talk to him ewen after he leafs."

"I guess."

"If you can still talk vith him, vhy—?"

Sulu interrupted, "It's just not the same, Ensign."

"I know, sair. …That vas stupid of me…"

"Unsympathetic, yes. Stupid, no." Unheard by Chekov, the helmsman added under his breath, "Stupid was getting us stuck in here."

"I vasn't talking about that. …Did you know that there's a svitch behind the base of the ladder, sair?"

"'Svitch'?"

"Svitch."

"I've had an _itch_, I've watched a baseball _pitch_, and I've pulled a _switch_—"

"That's it!"

"That's what?"

"Vhat I meant!" said Chekov. "A svitch! The pulling svitch."

"Oh—what did you do _now_?" Sulu stared into the darkness, able to just make out the ensign's outline.

"I think svitches must like me…"

"Ensign…"

"I just keep bumping them…"

"Ensign! _What did you do_?!"

"Vell, I bumped another one…" Chekov stated anxiously. "Vhat do you suppose it did?"

_Ssssssssss…_

"…Sair? Are you… _hissing_ at me?"

"No." Sulu paused and listened. "…Sounds like… air! You _idiot_! All the air is leaving the tube!"

Chekov was uncomfortably quiet for a moment, before he said, "Vould you mind doing me a fawor (favor), sair?"

"It'll have to wait until after I kill you, Ensign."

"That vas the fawor. Please kill me."

"Believe me, I'd _love_ to do that for you. But for now, I think I'd better update the captain on our situation." Flipping out his communicator but still glowering at Chekov's outline, Sulu began, "Sulu to the Bridge."

…

"Spock here."

"Sir, the captain told us to let him know if anything noteworthy happened to us. Well, it happened."

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"_Ensign Chekov_—" The Russian sank down a bit at the way Sulu all but spat the name. "—accidentally hit another switch. I believe that oxygen is leaving the tube, sir."

"The engineers are still unable to be of any assistance. However, with the captain's permission, I will see if there is anything I can do."

"That would be very much appreciated, sir."

Knowing humans the way he did, and feeling a special obligation as the first officer, Spock offered a bit of advice. "Remain calm and talk as little as possible. The air supply will last longer that way. Spock out."

Putting away the comm unit, Sulu said, "Well, you heard him, Ensign. Shut up and don't panic."

"Aye, sair."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Let's see... socks... comb... cute little dog... broken pencil tips... Nope. I don't own any Star Treks!

**Chapter Summary:** One-hundred-eighty-six bottles of wodka on the vall. One-hundred eighty-six bottles of wodka...

**Anonymous Review Reply, By Chekov:**

bladecutter25: **_I_** hope ve get out of this a-life, too!

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter Five, Day Three

Chekov drummed his fingers dully against his knee. Spock had come and gone, speaking to them briefly and informing them that there was nothing they could do until Scotty regained consciousness.

Sulu had sounded infinitely ticked off as he asked if the Vulcan was _absolutely-beyond-a-doubt-one-hundred-percent certain_ that they were stuck in there with a diminishing oxygen supply, and had growled quietly when Spock again assured them that the best they could do was keep calm and not speak. That way, the air would probably hold out for almost an entire hour.

"An hour," Sulu had grumbled at Chekov, as soon as Spock was gone. "My last hour in this existence and I'm stuck with _you_."

"Vell, sair," Chekov had replied, "maybe Scotty vill vake up soon."

"Key word: '_maybe_'."

It had been about fifteen minutes since that conversation, and the ensign was getting very bored. Alright, so thoughts of impending doom would keep him occupied, but the Russian was trying to keep ideas like that _out_ of his head.

This, combined with being forbidden to speak and being in a pitch-black environment, made for a somewhat eerie situation. Almost like the Grim Reaper was slowly hissing its way in as the oxygen hissed its way out, and—

No! Bad thought! Bad, bad thought! Out, out, out!

—and waving its scythe in circles while cackling evilly—

"Agh!" Chekov burst out, covering his ears with his hands and squeezing his eyes shut.

"Ensign?" Sulu asked.

Chekov slowly dropped his hands.

"Ensign!"

"I, ah," he tried to explain, "vatch too many old horror mowies…"

Sighing quietly, Sulu suggested, "Try reciting the alphabet backwards in your head. Now be quiet!"

_Z, Y, X… W… V, U, T… S… Q, R, S… no… messed up… S, um… R for "Reaper"… Q… P, O, N, M, L… L. Loss of Life. K, J, I, H, G, Grim. Grim Reaper, F, E, Evil. Thanks for the recommendation, sair._

Chekov chuckled nervously.

_D, C, B, A. Good. Done._

He exhaled in relief.

…Now what?

_…Ninety-nine glasses of wodka on the vall. Ninety-nine glasses of wodka. Take von down, pass it around…_

-

_…Negative-eighty-sewen glasses of wodka on the vall. Negative-eighty-sewen glasses of wodka…. There must be a lot of drunken people, passing around all that wodka…_

Chekov leaned his head back, letting it rest on the curved wall of the Jeffries tube.

_Vell… ninety-nine positive glasses and then the eighty-sewen negative glasses… I guess maybe they haf drunk one-hundred-eighty-six glasses. And they're still a-life. They can sure hold their liquor…_

Shaking his head, Chekov decided that he seriously needed to get a grip on reality. And reality, at the moment, was being stuck in a dark, silent tube with someone who hated his guts. In summary, reality really stunk.

On second thought—

_Negative-eighty-eight glasses of wodka on the wall…_

—reality could wait.

-

Reality was no longer evitable. Breathing was becoming difficult and Chekov found himself yawning frequently, his body's attempt to take in enough oxygen to keep breathing. If he lived through this, he was seriously going to kill that engineering ensign who had accidentally electrocuted Scotty.

Let's see…. Poison?

Nah. Too merciful.

Phaser!

Uh-uh. Still not right. That clumsy little so-and-so had to PAY.

Wait… clumsy little so-and-so? Come to think of it, _Chekov_ had been the one to bump all those switches. Shouldn't _he_ be the one to pay…?

Chekov tried to mull this over, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate. He started feeling a bit numb, or should he call it woozy? It was kind of hard for him to tell at the moment. Either way, that was the last sensation that occurred to the ensign before unconsciousness.

The timing for this wasn't exactly terrible, either, as Sulu, still barely awake, heard the sound of frenzied clicking from outside the tube. It sounded kind of like the buttons on a piece of engineering equipment being pressed in rapid succession.

All at once, Sulu felt like fainting from exhaustion and dancing with relief when he vaguely heard a Scottish voice mumbling. The words seemed incoherent to the helmsman's ears, but it was a very welcome mutter nonetheless.

"Sulu! Chekov!" the captain's voice called through the metal wall. "Hold on! We've almost got you out."

Sulu tapped his foot on the floor gladly, hoping the soft clatter would be heard. However, the sound was lost when the entire starship suddenly jolted to the right, flinging everything and everybody to one side.

Outside of the tube, as Scotty held on to one of the machines, Kirk was thrown to the other side of the room, hitting several buttons as he crashed against another piece of equipment.

This was not good at all.

But that was fairly obvious when the Jeffries tube that Chekov and Sulu were in exploded.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Sure, I don't own Star Trek _now_, but I will when pigs fly. So if anybody figures out to to speed up the process of evolution, please let me know. ;)

**Chapter Summary:** From bad... to worse... to... WHERE?!

**Anonymous Review Reply, by Sulu:**

_bladecutter25_: Maybe we'll be okay... wait a minute. Define "okay"!

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter Six, Day Three

Two drowsy eyes slowly and laboriously worked their way open and blearily looked out into the room. The view was unclear and quite fuzzy, sufficient reason for the confused mind to make the dry mouth rasp out a question.

"Am I dead?"

There were a few beeping sounds and a faraway voice said something.

"No," Sulu decided to himself, still extremely hoarse. "If I were dead, I wouldn't be in pain."

The other voice spoke again, this time loudly enough to sound familiar. "Didn't I tell you to be quiet?"

"Oh. Sorry. …But am I alright?"

"You _sound_ better than you _look_. Let's put it that way. Now be quiet."

"Is everyone else okay?"

"Look, let's make a deal—you shut up and I'll give you a detailed report on the entire crew once you wake up again."

"Wake up—?"

McCoy quickly poked a hypo into the helmsman's arm, effectively silencing the lieutenant.

"That's why you _listen_ to me when I tell you to shut up," muttered the doctor before turning to see who'd just entered sickbay.

"Bones, how is Sulu holding up?" asked Kirk. "Alright?"

"Alright enough for him to have to be shot before I could get him to close his mouth," McCoy replied dryly. "It'll take a short while, but yes, he'll be fine."

"And Chekov?"

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

Trying not to sigh, Kirk asked for the bad news to be gotten overwith, knowing that whenever McCoy had bad news, it was always _really really bad_ news.

"Well, then, we'll just say that it's hard to tell him from a corpse at the moment. That's the bad news."

"Is he—?"

"No, he's alive. On life support, but alive. _That's_ the good news. Ready for more bad news?"

"Not really," the captain commented, "but go ahead, anyway."

"I'm not _sure_ that he's on life support."

"How can you not be sure?" Kirk demanded.

"Take a look around, Jim. He's not in sickbay!"

"Then where _is_ he?" Kirk impatiently snapped.

McCoy paused before stating, "He's with the Klingons."

"Oh. He's—WHERE?!"

"They _say_ they've got him on life support on their ship," explained McCoy. "I'm not sure what, but they want something. I'm guessing that they're holding him hostage for that reason."

"Would you mind telling me how, exactly, Chekov got on a Klingon ship?" was the irritable question.

"I would if I could, but I can't," the good doctor shook his head. "They must have some sort of new transporting technology—but don't ask me to tell you about _that_. I'm a doctor, not an engineer."

"Then why don't you explain why I wasn't informed of this _as it happened_?"

"For one thing, you were pretty woozy after the ship made that brief-but-catastrophic turn to starboard…." McCoy smirked.

"Don't tell _anyone_ about that," Kirk said quickly. "That's an order."

"Oh, sure. You and Scarlett O'Hara can rest assured that I won't tell a living soul about your little tea party with—"

Kirk interrupted with a glare. McCoy snickered briefly before becoming solemn and apologizing.

"I was delirious," scowled the captain. "I'm going to the bridge."

"Certainly," nodded McCoy. "Give my regards to Fozzie Bear."

"One more word…" Kirk threatened in a mutter as he stalked out of sickbay.

"And you'll send the Earl Grey trolls after me," finished McCoy to himself, once Kirk was out of earshot. "One must wonder what goes through that man's head when he's completely _normal_."

-

After bonking his head on some weirdo piece of engineering equipment, discovering that one of his crew had somehow been transported to a Klingon ship, and being taunted by McCoy, Kirk was not in the best of moods. In fact, he was in a pretty darn rotten mood. And that was the reason why anyone and everyone who happened to be between sickbay and the bridge got chewed out by one ticked off captain.

Most of the unfortunate crewmembers simply stood and gawped at him until they: A, were told that they needed to see a dentist. Seriously. B, had a tissue stuffed into their mouth. Or C, were told to close their mouth and stand up straight, for Pete's sake! They had to set a good example for the ensigns!

Finally, though, Kirk made it to the bridge and plunked down sourly in his chair. Without looking, he assumed that Spock was nearby. If not, his comment of, "I hear that Ensign Chekov has been having a pretty bad day," went to the bridge crew in general.

"Affirmative, Captain. Uhura has a line with the Klingon battle cruiser holding Chekov. They have been insisting for the last half of our conversation that they speak directly to you. Only audio is available."

"Fine." He glanced back to the communications officer just long enough to say, "Put them on."

"Aye, sir…"

"Kirk here," announced the captain.

…

"I _said_, 'Kirk here'. What do you want?"

"The connection is weak, sir," Uhura stated, beginning to touch a few buttons. "It may take a minute for them to come through again."

"Oh."

As Uhura switched to a different channel, the Klingons' voices could be heard talking amongst themselves. A couple of them were speaking in Klingonese, but another seemed to be muttering to himself in English about idiotic mistakes and bad connections.

"Hello," Kirk called.

"Captain Kirk?"

"Yes. Who are you, what are you doing with our ensign, and why are you in Federation territory?"

"Captain Kirk, on behalf of the Klingon Empire we announce that you are to prepare to be boarded."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** (checks the fine print) Nope... doesn't say anything about me owning Star Trek.

**Chapter Summary:** Klingons!

**Anonymous Review Reply, by Scotty:**

_bladecutter25_: Consider it disregarded... in a polite way, of course. We'd never ignore ye.

**A/N:** This is my first try at naming/writing Klingons - actually, I got these names from an online Klingon name generator. They aren't supposed to be any of the Klingons that appeared in any of the series. They're just random Klingons that I made up. Just thought I oughtta let you know. On with the chappie!

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter Seven, Day Three

After this little announcement, Kirk snapped, "Ex_cuse_ me?"

"You are to prepare to be boarded," the Klingon reiterated irritably.

"And if we don't _want_ to be boarded?"

"You have no choice in the matter."

"And how do you expect to get on board, exactly, if we don't let you?"

"I repeat: You have no choice in the matter. We will board the _Enterprise_ whether you 'let' us or not."

"_How_?"

"Oh, we will, Kirk. Karagg out."

As the connection ended abruptly, Kirk was left to ask no one in particular, "Karagg? Never heard of _him_ before…"

Spock stated, "Karagg steals technologies from foreign planets and improves upon them. I imagine he has developed a transporter capable of transporting subjects to and from locations without transporter pads. That would be a logical explanation for Ensign Chekov's disappearance."

"And it would drive Scotty up the wall if he finds out that someone created something like that before _he_ could," remarked the captain.

"'Up the wall', Captain?"

"Just an old Earth expression. But right now the main goal is to keep the Klingons _off_ the ship and get Chekov back _on_!"

-

The following conversation takes place in a foreign language. For the convenience of those of you who don't speak Klingonese (myself included), it has been translated. Thank you.

"Why do we even waste our time on an ensign?" K'trok demanded as he entered the battle cruiser's sickbay. The Klingon leaned back against the doorway as soon as the door slid shut.

"Karagg says he will be worth more to us if he lives," the doctor answered with a mild glare at the second-in-command. She added, "You should not complain so much about it. It really is _your fault_ that he's here at all."

K'trok scowled, "It was a mistake! An idiotic mistake, granted, but still an accident. It was only my second time using the new transporter."

"Yes. A mistake that will shame him for the rest of his life," Kembri commented dryly, gesturing to the ensign.

"He's a human! Humans aren't like us," K'trok objected. "They _prefer_ being held hostage to being killed, the filthy cowards."

"True," admitted Kembri. She muttered, "What in the Empire are they _doing_ on that ship of theirs, anyway? His internal organs are a mess."

"What are you so concerned about a Federation ensign for?"

"I'm a doctor. Occasionally I have to feel a bit responsible for my patients," was the sarcastic response. "And we _need_ him alive for leverage."

"We have the new transporter," insisted K'trok. "Why do we need _him_?"

Kembri slammed her open palm against the wall and glowered openly at the other Klingon. "_You_ are the first officer and you still _don't know_?! I cannot—!"

The physician's speech was cut short when a lieutenant wandered into the room, mumbled "Where's that stinkin' place, anyway?", and turned around.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed in disgust as the lost officer made his exit. "Sometimes I think the cruiser would be better off with _me_ as the only crewmember!"

"Just tell me why we need the ensign," growled K'trok.

"_Le-ver-age_," Kembri enunciated. "If the new transporter goes haywire, we will at least have him." She snapped, "But it would have been better if we'd actually managed to get the captain, _as planned_!"

"One mistake and you pay for it the rest of your life," K'trok grumbled to himself, retreating into the corridor.

-

As expected, Scotty was perfectly livid upon being informed that the Klingons had a new, higher-tech transporting technology. It didn't help that he was still hopping mad over the demolished Jeffries tube whose parts were scattered artistically throughout Engineering.

And so it was an irate, enthusiastically-cursing Scotsman who was told to stop cleaning his lass for a while and try to create some sort of barrier to keep out the Klingons.

"Fine! But it's hard to concentrate on somethin' like that when those infernal sirens are goin'!" he'd fumed, referring to the red-alert alarms that were on full blast.

"Please, Scotty, try to contain yourself," Kirk said, but the chief engineer was already storming off, muttering on that he needed two things:

A pay raise and a bottle of scotch.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: If I owned Star Trek, you would know it. Trust me.

**Humongo Apology & Pathetic Excuse**: I'm **_soooooooooooooooooooooo_ **sorry for taking... (checks clock) heh... several months to update! -COUGH-. Sorry!

Now for the excuse - First, I just had no inspiration. Then, I had to hurry up and finish my schoolwork before the end of the school year. After that, I was on vacation and got a little (cough, a LOT) lazy. Now, I'm busy with studying, cleaning, studying some more, learning Japanese in my free time, practicing piano, attending Tae Kwon-Do lessons, (unsuccessfully) attempting to spend time with my friend (sniffle), and... studying. Yes, I do have a life. A pathetic excuse of a life, granted, but a life nonetheless.

**Anonymous Review Reply/ies**:

_bladecutter25_: Two things - 1) I'm SORRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! (cry) and 2) Thank you very much for that extremely necessary kick in the rear! Now please read the chapter before you start yelling again. (cowers)

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter Eight, Day Three

"Is it done yet?" Kirk asked.

"No, sir," the chief engineer grumbled.

"…How about now?" suggested the captain.

For the fifteenth time in the past ten minutes.

"Och, for cryin' out loud, Cap'n!" exploded Scotty. "I ken only work so fast, ye know! It's even harder ta' concentrate when you keep interruptin' me ev'ry ten seconds to ask if I'm done!"

"Sorry, Scotty."

"…Not ta' mention the little detail that I have no idea what I'm doin'…"

Kirk blinked and then stared at the only red-shirt to consistently maintain good health. "Then… what have you been doing for the past half hour?"

"Well," the Scotsman replied grumpily, "for the first twenty minutes I was thinkin' up somethin' ta' do, and for these past ten minutes I've been tryin' to get ye to leave me alone! _Please_, Cap'n!"

Looking half-insulted, half-annoyed, and half-penitent (Yes, Kirk needs to work on his math.), the captain conceded, "Alright, Scotty, I'll leave. But let me know as soon as whatever you're going to do is done."

"Bless ye, sir," Scotty sighed in relief. "Yes, I will call ye."

And so Kirk left the engineer to his figuring, glancing back at Scotty and muttering to himself, "I'll ask Spock to check in on him every once in a while…"

-

Meanwhile, on the Klingon bird-of-prey, Chekov had just regained consciousness and was now staring into the face of…

"A Klingon!" the ensign choked out in horror.

The aforementioned Klingon said something to him that the recent Academy graduate couldn't quite understand, prompting his slightly rattled brain to think, _Her English is vorse than mine… vait. Vas that English? No… she's a Klingon. Klingonese! It must be Klingonese. I vish I knew Klingonese._

_I vish I knew _English,_ come to think of it. Vasn't I supposed to meet Uhura today for another English lesson? Yes… I'd better go and—_

_Vait again. I can't go anyvhere vith that Klingon running around the ship! I haf to—!_

Chekov rapidly sat up before falling back down again with a groan and a hand to his head.

Kembri mumbled at him in Klingonese, "I told you to stay still, you idiot. …Oh, right. The communication gap: you don't speak Klingonese and I don't speak any Earth languages. Tough for you, fella."

In an attempt to indicate that the Starfleet recruit should not move, Kembri put a hand on his right shoulder and pushed down carefully but firmly, saying slowly, "Stay."

"Sit! Heel! What is he: a pet of some kind?"

The Klingon doctor looked up with a glare at K'trok. "He doesn't know Klingonese."

"Well, _I_ know _English_," the first officer proclaimed boastfully. "Let _me_ handle this."

"Just don't screw up," muttered Kembri. "Tell him not to move."

Swaggering over to the sickbed, K'trok growled at Chekov in English, "Move and you die, small-fry!" Glancing to his crewmate with a cocky expression, he asked in his native tongue, "Anything else you want to tell him?"

"Yes. Tell him that you are a fatheaded imbecile who deserves to be pulled apart atom-by-atom by a black hole."

"Oh, you're gonna get it one of these days, Kembri… you're gonna get it."

-

Sulu cracked one eye open carefully and saw McCoy, back turned to him, looking over some information on his electronic notepad. The helmsman smirked slightly to himself, thinking that he was going to have a little fun.

McCoy yawned loudly and rested an elbow dully on the table he was seated at, propping his head up on his hand.

Oh, no, not a little fun.

A whole _lot_ of fun.

Just tweak a little button there…

And all he had to do was wait.

-

"How—"

"NO, I AM NOT FINISHED, CAP'N! NOW LEAVE ME BE BEFORE I DO SOMETHIN' WORTHY OF THE DEATH PENALTY!!"

"—is your assignment coming?" Spock finished, eyebrow arched but otherwise appearing completely unperturbed.

Scotty finally got a good look at his visitor and dropped the random tool that he had been wielding dangerously in his fit of rage. The tool fell to the floor with a loud clang, narrowly missing the engineer's foot.

"Mr. Spock!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, sir, I thought ye were the cap'n again."

Spock nodded solemnly and glanced around. "Judging from the lack of functioning machinery here, I take it that you have not yet finished your device?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. I will return later. I will inform the captain that it would be advisable to avoid the engineering department for the time being." Just before leaving, the Vulcan looked at the still-frazzled Scotty again and murmured, "Fascinating."

-

Back in sickbay, the good doctor had just heard something—or, rather, he'd just _stopped_ hearing something.

McCoy paused a moment, taking a break from reviewing a few medical records, and thought. Before there had been but one noise in the quiet infirmary background: a consistent "beep… beep… beep…" from the machine that read Sulu's vital signs.

Now there still was only one sound, but it had changed from "beep… beep…" to "beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—"

Bones leapt up from his chair and, with a few long strides, was beside the biobed.

"No!" the doctor hissed to himself in shock upon seeing that all of the helmsman's vital signs were so far down that the only thing left to do would be to pronounce the cause of death. "But how…?"

He looked down somewhat mournfully at the lieutenant, wondering what had caused the sudden loss of life. Sulu had been doing so well, too.

The deceased's eyes suddenly opened, and Sulu said, "Hello."

McCoy jumped back about two feet, and he exploded, "Wha—?!!"

Sulu just grinned and slowly moved his fingers to turn the piece of medical equipment back on. The readings of his vital signs automatically flew back up to a stable, if not totally robust, level.

Glowering furiously, the doctor snapped, "You know, if you weren't in that biobed and didn't need rest, you'd be on the receiving end of a serious tongue-lashing! What the heck was _that_ for?!"

Returning the glare, Sulu stated, "For sticking me with a hypo for no reason, sir."

"No reason?" McCoy snorted. "I had _plenty_ of reason—and I still do. So go to sleep on your own or I'll _make_ ya."

And, with his threat established, the hypo-happy medical officer stormily returned to his table, muttering, "All these bridge crewmen these days—no respect for the doctors anymore. Especially not the captains… which reminds me… Jim still hasn't shown up for his physical…"

McCoy grinned sadistically. Ah, yes. He was in a _much_ better mood now!

"Maybe I'll 'lose' the hypo and give him one of those old-fashioned flu shots… no, too merciful. Blood test! Yes… drawing blood. Won't hurt… much."

This was going to be a great day.

Trying not to appear too pale at McCoy's near-psychotic rambling, Sulu piped up, "How's the ensign, sir?"

Aw, nuts. So much for that great day.

Bones sighed and said, "Not here."

"I noticed. Where is he?"

Deciding that adding a high stress level to Sulu's current medical résumé might not be the best idea, McCoy ordered, "Go to sleep, lieutenant. I'll tell you when you're feeling up to it."

"I am now."

"Ohhh, no, you aren't," objected the doctor. "Trust me."

"That sounds like what you're going to tell the captain when you take a blood sample from him," Sulu said, suddenly very concerned.

"Look. You either trust me or you put your faith in the hypo."

"Good night, sir."

* * *

**A/N**: I didn't wanna put this at the top, because I'd already rambled enough there. But I _do_ have some good news (No, I didn't save a bunch of money on my car insurance by switching to Geico, which I do not own...). 

Anyhey, the alleged "good news" is that I am temporarily putting my other in-progress stories on hiatus so that I can concentrate on this one and actually attempt to update regularly until it's finished.

So, an apology goes out to Fruits Basket (not mine) and Teen Titans (not mine, either) fans. But they probably aren't reading this anyway, so they won't find out until I announce the hiatuses? hiatus? hiati? in my profile. XD

**Random Question**: What is the correct plural form of the word "hiatus"?


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** No, I do not own them.

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter Nine, Day Three

Trapped.

He was completely, utterly, undeniably trapped in sickbay, being watched over by a none-too-pleasant doctor.

Currently, however, the doctor wasn't quite looking over him: the medical professional was now having a loud argument with a high-ranking official, who seemed to be doing most of the yelling—or screeching, take your pick.

Either way, it wasn't helping his red-alert-siren-induced headache any, and now the patient had only one question:

Had Kirk's voice changed yet?

-

A similar situation was going on in the Klingonese sickbay, and Chekov genuinely felt like getting up and belting both loudmouths over the head with that oh-so-convenient piece of old medical equipment just lying on the floor next to his bed.

So, while the Klingons were too busy yelling at each other to pay him any attention, the ensign decided to try and do so. He slowly slid off the bed, absently wondering if that pain throughout his chest, back, and arms was something to worry about.

_I vas practically blown to pieces_, the ensign deciding silently, trying to catch his breath as he wriggled across the floor. _I am probably just a little sore_.

Chekov took hold of the fairly bulky piece of machinery and paused, wondering how he was going to lift it up if he had struggled just to get out of bed.

Well, desperate times called for desperate measures, and he wasn't about to be murdered by Klingons without a fight, so Chekov took a deep breath and, in one quick but extremely painful motion, the boxy object had been flung away, hitting the nearly nose-to-nose Klingons in the head.

_Vonce eweryvon hears about this_, thought the Russian grimly as the pair fell, _I had better get something out of it. A chiropractor, for instance._

Chekov cringed, rubbing his back first in an inspecting manner and then in a massaging circle after realizing that there really wasn't a knife stuck there.

There was no time to waste sympathizing with his poor aching back, though, so the ensign proceeded to stumble awkwardly out of the sickbay, only realizing that this was not the _Enterprise_ once he was out in the corridor.

Glancing around anxiously, he muttered, "I am in _big_ trouble."

-

Back on the _Enterprise_, Kirk had finally won his fight with McCoy, on the grounds that protecting the ship and rescuing Ensign Chekov were more important than having Bones take a blood sample.

"Later—I promise," fibbed the captain, promptly stepping out of sickbay upon hearing the beginnings of an agreement from the doctor. The door slid shut behind him, and he sighed in relief.

"Captain."

Kirk turned to his left, saying, "Mr. Spock."

"It is ready."

"Hm? What—oh! That device Scotty was trying to make?" Kirk hoped.

"Yes, sir."

"Great! Is he still in the engineering room?"

"Yes, sir. He says that all he needs is your permission to use his device," the Vulcan stated.

"Of course he has my permission!" James Tiberius burst out. "I told him to build it!"

Spock suggested, "Perhaps Mr. Scott should explain that."

Looking somewhat exasperated, Kirk made a beeline for Engineering, wondering what the heck was going on.

-

Kirk entered Engineering not too long after that and demanded what the problem was.

"Well, Cap'n," Scotty began, "the good news is tha' I believe that this will keep those Klingons off the _Enterprise_." He patted the knee-high parabolic piece of metal, which had one bluish-greenish-yellowish quarter-sized swirley circle towards the top of it, that sat by his side. In his other hand was a remote control.

Warily, Kirk pressed, "And the _bad_ news?"

"What makes ye think there's bad news, sir?"

"For one thing, whenever there's _good_ news, _bad_ news isn't too far behind. Besides, Mr. Spock informed me that, for some reason, you feel you need my permission to use your machine."

"Aye, sir," the chief engineer confirmed with a nod. "The Foreign Transporter Repulsion Device—that's what I'm calling it, sir," he cut himself off to explain the title.

"Go on." Kirk decided that, whatever the bad news was, it was _very_ bad indeed if it was making Scotty try to delay the explanation.

"Aye. Sir, are ye aware of how much _power_ it would take to run something as great as this thing?"

"Do I _want_ to be aware of it?" Kirk pondered.

"Prob'ly not, sir, but ye must." After a brief pause, Scotty announced, "I need the Dilithium crystals, sir."

-

Throughout Deck B (which shall be called Deck 2 from this point on), ensigns fell over in shock and lieutenants jumped in surprise as, above the bellows of the red-alert sirens, they heard a loud yell of, "WHAT?!!!"

-

Scotty quickly regained his balance and said hastily, "But it's na' all bad, Cap'n. The repulsion device dinna' need _all_ of the power. We will still have power in necessary areas—the bridge, sickbay, communications, full life support. We jus'… will'na' be able to use our transporters or move, sir."

Kirk blinked. "So we'll basically just be sitting ducks for the Klingons to attack. Wonderful."

"We'll still have shields and lasers," added Scotty. "An' I can guarantee that the Klingons will ne'er be able to transport themselves onto the ship as long as the device is runnin'," he concluded with confidence.

"You're absolutely-one-hundred-percent-beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt-completely certain… that the Klingons won't be able to transport onboard?"

"Aye, sir," the engineer proclaimed proudly, standing up straight and tall. "I would bet my life on her."

"You may be doing just that, Scotty," the captain shook his head.

This was a tough decision: get annihilated by Klingons that found their way onto the _Enterprise_, or be blown to bits by their lasers.

With a sigh and a gesture toward the Foreign Transporter Repulsion Device, Kirk agreed, "Go power it up."

"Aye, sir!"

So it was done.

-

Yes, it was done, much to the chagrin of Karagg. He soon discovered that the Starfleet ship had some… thing… set up to prevent his crew from beaming aboard the _Enterprise_.

With a growl of fury, Karagg switched open the communication line between the bridge and sickbay, grunting, "Kembri, report."

Silence.

"Report. Status of the prisoner?" he clarified impatiently.

More silence.

"Kembri. Report. _NOW_."

Yes, you guessed it. I don't have to tell you anymore.

"KEMBRI!"

Letting out another growl, Karagg leapt up from his captain's chair and stormed off to sickbay with the intention of checking on his niece.

And no.

He was _not_ going to be happy.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the day-late update!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek or any related characters or objects. Nor do I own a house, a car, or a dishwasher. I own nothing, I tell you! Nothing!! (Just kidding...)

**A/N:** Sorry for the late update! I wasn't in much of a writing mood last week because our dog passed on.

**A/N 2:** I also apologize for any spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, or lousy plotlines. I, desperate to post a new chapter, completed all 1,622 words of it in a grand total of less than two hours, so I didn't really do much checking.

**Anonymous Review Reply:**

_Bladecutter25_: Thanks for the review - I'm glad you liked it. I'm trying to start writing longer chapters, but remember this: If I write a very long chapter, that means that the chapter following the long chapter will be really delayed and short. Why? Because I will have used all of my material in the long chapter! Anyway, thanks again and please enjoy this (slightly) longer chapter!

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter Ten, Day Three

Ensign Pavel Chekov was in a bad situation.

Correction: He was in a _very_ bad situation.

He was on a Klingon ship with no phaser, no communicator, no friends, and an aching body. And now he had to escape! By himself. Alone. No help.

This would be fun.

Chekov, using the wall for support, slowly proceeded down the corridor, hoping to find a transporter or an open communications line that he could use. Meanwhile, he desperately tried to search for a bright spot in this dilemma.

_Vell… um… I'm… alife…_

Yes, that was certainly a bright spot.

_And… ah… vell… I can valk…_

That was pushing it a bit, considering that the ensign needed to keep a shoulder pressed to the wall in order to remain standing, but it was still a plus.

_…And I'll get a vonderful funeral…_

Going downhill…

_…If they can find my body…_

…Definitely downhill.

_Think happy thoughts_, Chekov told himself sternly. _Like… maybe I von't die too painfully…_

_…Real happy, Pavel. __**Real**__ happy_.

Seeing as the happy thoughts had just been sucked into a black hole with no chance of return, the Russian fixed his mind firmly on the mission at hand, blocking off all other thoughts.

He eventually came to a turbolift and, pressing the button to open the doors, quite literally fell into the small space, grunting in mixed pain and annoyance. The doors closed automatically, and Chekov reached up for something to grab onto, so that he could stand up.

Grabbing onto a stick that his fingers found, Chekov hauled himself up, noticing at the same time that the rod moved down.

With a mental shrug, Chekov leaned against the side of the lift and figured that going down a deck instead of up was just fine with him. After all, he wasn't exactly an expert on the construction of Klingon ships—for all he knew, a lower deck could have been home to the bridge.

The lift doors opened again a few seconds later, after Chekov had randomly released the controller, and the ensign looked both ways warily before stepping out of the compartment.

What he saw changed his opinion on his immediate future considerably.

-

Meanwhile, Kirk was discussing with Spock what to do about the ensign stranded on their enemy's ship.

-

And Karagg had just discovered Kembri and K'trok's current (unconscious) state, and Chekov's disappearance, and had alerted the remainder of his small crew of this dilemma. They were ordered to set their weapons to "kill" and seek out the Starfleet crewman.

-

Uhura, receiving a signal from the bird-of-prey, called the captain over the intercom to let him know of this development. Kirk took the communication in the meeting room.

"Audio only, sir," Uhura finished before hitting a couple of buttons to allow the captain to speak with the Klingon ship.

"This is Kirk," James T. stated. "What is it?"

"Kirk—Captain Kirk…"

-

"…I am truly surprised at you," Karagg said, glaring at the communication system as he spoke to his least favorite captain. "You have managed to block your ship to our transporters, _and_ your ensign has knocked out my first officer and my niece. I would have thought that a high-and-mighty Starfleet officer such as yourself would train your crew to have better manners when visiting a foreign ship."

Kirk tried not to grin: this was good. Chekov was alive, and apparently well enough to fight. Not trusting himself not to burst into laughter at Karagg's crew's predicament, he limited his response to a controlled, "Oh?"

"Yes. Also, I just wanted to let you know that we are searching for your ensign as we speak. At the moment, my orders are to have him killed."

"Now, wait a min—"

"Of course, I _may_ be willing to reconsider," Karagg cut off the _Enterprise_'s captain.

"Under what conditions?" asked Kirk, having a feeling that he was not going to like the answer.

"Open your ship to our transporters and we will beam your ensign back there. I cannot guarantee that he won't have some _company_, but…"

Nope. Kirk did not like the conditions. Time to renegotiate.

"Look, Karagg, let's talk this over a little more," he suggested.

Spock, who had remained silent up to this point, now commented to the Klingon, "Before we hold our conference, I do not think it would be unreasonable for you to tell us why your ship is in Federation territory."

"Alright," Karagg nodded at the Vulcan he could not see. "I will tell you: We want your ship."

"_NOTHIN' DOIN'!_"

-

Kirk jumped as the Scottish voice boomed throughout the meeting room. Turning in his chair to face the engineer standing in the doorway, the captain asked, "Scotty?"

"I'm sorry, cap'n," Scotty made the obligatory apology. "I was just comin' to give ye that status report on the Repulsion Device—she's still workin' fine, by the way—an' I couldn't help but hear."

"Is that a community center you have over there, Kirk?" Karagg's voice, sounding infinitely ticked off, demanded. "More people keep suddenly joining the conversation."

"This was the last interruption," promised Kirk, just as another button blinked on the comm unit, indicating that another person wanted to talk to him. "Except for this one. Just let me tell them to talk to me later."

"_Fiiiiiine_…" was the growled response.

Kirk quickly switched the right button and said, "I'm a little busy. Kirk ou—"

"Jim," McCoy's voice replied urgently, "Sulu isn't doing very well."

"I'm a captain, not a doctor," Kirk stated in exasperation. "Take care of it, Bones!"

"No, no, I didn't mean 'not very well', I meant '_not very well at __**all**_'. As in he needs treatment I can't give him in order to make even a partial recovery!"

You know those moments where you just feel like repeatedly smashing your head against a wall? Kirk was having one of those moments.

-

On the other hand, Chekov felt like shouting for joy. Not five yards in front of him was a beautiful shuttlecraft, waiting to be used.

So what if he had no idea of how to operate a Klingon craft? This was _good_. This was _very good_.

Joy temporarily dissipating his pain, the ensign darted forward, opened the shuttlecraft door, and hopped in, locking the opening behind him.

"Time to blow this joint," Chekov muttered to himself, searching the control panel for anything that might propel the craft forward. A moment later, he concluded that it might be a good idea to open the passage that would allow the craft to exit the bird-of-prey's hangar.

"Idiot," he mumbled, unlocking the door and running out, flipping the switch conveniently placed next to the passage's opening. The Russian then hurried back to the shuttlecraft, got in, locked the door, and sat down in the pilot's chair.

"Now ve're going places."

And so he was, as, after fiddling around a bit, Chekov hit upon a stroke of good luck and found the craft moving towards the exit. He was going home.

Well, not _home_. To the _Enterprise_. But that was close enough at the moment.

The shuttlecraft advanced—slowly at first, but then more quickly once Chekov found the accelerator—and finally cleared the exit passage, sending the ensign out into open space.

While managing to keep the craft on a more-or-less steady course towards the _Enterprise_, he glanced at the control panel from time to time, searching for a communicator to use. After all, it would ruin his entire escape from the Klingons if his own ship's crew thought that he was an enemy.

Yes, being blown apart into his individual atoms by a laser would definitely spoil things.

Finally, Chekov's eyes caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a piece of communications equipment and twisted a knob, grinning victoriously as it turned on. He twisted another little knob back and forth for a while until it met the _Enterprise_'s frequency.

"Uhura?" Chekov asked hopefully, once he was fairly certain that he'd turned on the audio.

"Yes, this is the _Enter_—Pavel?" the communications officer's voice interrupted itself.

"_Da_, _da_! Is me! Pavel!" the ensign enthusiastically proclaimed.

"Pavel!" exclaimed Uhura. "Where are you? Rand!" she continued, "Get the captain! Are you alright, Pavel?"

"_Da_, I am fine; I am in the shuttlecraft. To the _Enterprise_'s starboard."

"Good," Uhura sighed. "You're sure you're alright?"

"Yes… vell… mostly," he admitted. "I hurt a little, but I am alife. That is good."

"That's _very_ good, Pavel. How did you get in the shuttlecraft?"

"I take it," was the simple reply.

"Well, as long as you're alright, that's just fine. Get behind the ship if you can, so that the Klingons can't fire at you when they realize you're gone."

"Okay. I vill. Is Sulu good?"

"He's in sickbay right now, but the last I heard, he was supposed to be doing well."

"That is good. Vas Scotty wery mad at us?"

"No, not too mad, I don't think," Uhura answered. "Just very upset. …The captain's here, Pavel. He wants to talk to you."

"Okay."

"Chekov," Kirk promptly spoke. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, sair. I am alife and vell. Vhen can I beam aboard?"

There was a pause from the Federation ship. "It may be a little while, Ensign. For now, just move your shuttlecraft behind the _Enterprise_."

"I am doing that, sair."

"Good, good… Uhura, keep the line open. I want you to stay in contact with Chekov. Ensign, I'll talk to you again later. For now I have a few other things to attend to."

"Aye, sair."

"Yes, captain," Uhura added. She continued to Chekov, "What do you want to talk about, Pasha?"

"Anything besides Klingons."

"Good choice."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** Do I _look_ like I own Star Trek? No. So I don't own it.

**A/N:** Once again, another miserably short chappie... XD

**Anonymous Review Reply:**

_Bladecutter25_:Thanks for the review! It's great when someone reviews a story regularly... (glares at all you people out there who read this story but don't review...)

(just kidding, reading is good enough...)

(kinda...)

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter Eleven, Day Three

"Say, I just had a thought," Uhura told Chekov.

"Vhat?"

"Why don't you just move your shuttlecraft into the _Enterprise_'s dock?" She rolled her eyes at herself in mild disgust, but then decided that no one had thought of this simple and very logical idea due to the confusion brought on by Klingons, repulsion devices, and exploding Jeffries tubes.

"_Da_! That is good: I vill do that."

"Alright," smiled Uhura. "I'll make an announcement over the intercom to make sure that no one panics when they see a Klingon shuttlecraft entering the ship."

"_Da_."

And, for a while, things went very well for Chekov. The lieutenant that met him at the shuttlecraft dock—as well as the other crewmembers that the ensign passed on the way to sickbay—was really nice, as news had leaked and afterward spread quickly of the incident where Chekov had knocked out two Klingons.

Of course, there _were_ a few variations of this story, including one where the Russian had, with one fist, punched out both officers of the Empire. This would account for why several young ensigns stepped quickly out of Chekov's way, staring at him in mixed awe and wariness.

Once at sickbay, where McCoy had insisted on a quick checkup to ensure Chekov's wellbeing, the lieutenant who had escorted him there saluted and walked off briskly down the hall.

"Doctor?" Chekov called to the other end of the room to get the officer's attention.

"Oh. Chekov. Does it hurt anywhere?" McCoy asked quickly, approaching him as Nurse Chapel continued to monitor Sulu at the biobed farthest from the sickbay's entrance.

"Vell, my back and chest did for a vhile vhen I vas on the Klingon ship," recalled the ensign, "but then it stopped hurting until now. Now it is starting to hurt again." He shrugged. "I do not know vhy it vould do that."

"It's called 'adrenaline'," stated the doctor. "Now pick out a biobed."

"Vhy? I am alright," Chekov replied insistently.

"Well, I'd like to check that out for myself first. Siddown before you collapse and die unexpectedly or something. I've had enough of unanticipated downturns in health for the day."

Chekov, recognizing that the medical officer was not exactly a happy camper right now (or ever, actually…), obediently plopped down onto the edge of the closest biobed and followed along as McCoy muttered orders: "Open your mouth." "Sit up straight… does that hurt?" "Breathe in… slow, for Pete's sake! Haven't you ever been to a doctor before?! Breathe in _slow_!"

The examination was concluded with a quick once-over with the medical scanner, and McCoy then told Chekov to lie down while he retrieved some medicine.

As soon as McCoy approached the bed again, brandishing two pills and a hypo, Chekov asked, "So vhat is wrong?"

"It's called pneumothorax." Dropping the pills into Chekov's hand, he added, "Want some water with those?"

"No, thank you. That vas a short checkup for a long name. Vhat is pneuma—pneumo…"

"Pneumothorax. Means that there's air in the space around your lungs. That blue pill will clear things up in there and the injection should help keep it from coming back.

"Besides the pneumothorax, you've got a sprained back and a bunch of bumps and bruises, but the red pill will reduce the pain. We'll just get you cleaned up and you can heal on your own. Nothin' to it," McCoy concluded with a slight smile.

"Good." Glancing to his left, Chekov wondered, "Is Sulu alright?"

"Could be better."

"He does not look too good—"

"Don't stress yourself out or I'll have to give you another pill to relieve anxiety." Once Chekov had taken the medicine and had been poked with the hypo, he finished, "Take a nap. You need to rest."

"Aye, sair. But…"

"Take. A. _Nap_," McCoy growled, looking very scary indeed as he glowered at the ensign.

"Aye, sair!"

-

When Chekov had been escorted to sickbay, Kirk had been having a ball.

"Alright, Karagg, we can talk now," Kirk announced, once back in the meeting room.

"Are you sure that you do not have another crewmember waiting to interrupt you?" demanded the Klingon irritably. "I believe that there may be one or two officers over there that have yet to speak up."

"Oh, I'm sure," grinned the Starfleet captain. "So, how is your search for Ensign Chekov coming along, hmm? Have you shot down the poor fellow yet?"

"No, we have not found him yet," Karagg grudgingly admitted. After a suspicious pause, he added slowly, "I am getting the impression that you know something that I don't."

"What makes you think that?"

"You sound too happy for a man who is about to lose an ensign. Either a beautiful lieutenant has entered the room, or you have gone insane. I am actually leaning toward the former."

"No, no, nothing like that." Still smiling wildly, although Karagg could not see this, Kirk invited, "Guess."

"I do not _guess_," Karagg, sounding rather repulsed, proclaimed. "Tell me what put you in such a good mood."

"I just happen to know that it's going to take you quite a while to find Ensign Chekov over there."

…

"HE ESCAPED?!" roared Karagg.

"You've got it." Glaring at the comm unit, Kirk said, "Now, since there's no way you're going to get the _Enterprise_, why don't you just do us all a favor and go discover a new galaxy? A _faraway_ galaxy."

"This is not the end of this little episode, Kirk," Karagg warned. "We _will_ cross paths again. And I will not be so lenient then. Karagg out."

But the revenge of the Klingons will have to wait for another time. Perhaps even until The Wrath of Khan. For now, suffice to say that Karagg and his bird-of-prey grumpily warped off, finally leaving the _Enterprise_ in peace.

Kirk switched on the ship's intercom and announced, "The Klingons have left—turn off red alert. Scotty, turn off the Foreign Transporter Repulsion Device. We're going to the nearest Federation outpost. Kirk out."

* * *

**A/N:** So there you have it: another chapter knocked out in under two hours. Will I ever learn to stop procrastinating already?! (wanders off to procrastinate ending her procrastination...)

Thanks for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** For Pete's sake, no! I don't own any part of Star Trek! ...(cry.)

**A/N:** Well, here it is: Ye olde finale. Thanks for reading the story, and please enjoy!

**P**avel **C**hekov:

_Navigating a Life_

Chapter Twelve, Day Five

"The animal _is_ ill; the animal _was_ ill; the animal _will be_ ill; the animal _has been_ ill," Uhura recited. "Which one suggests that the animal _was_ and still _is_ ill?"

"Has been. And, vhile ve are talking of 'ill', how is Mr. Sulu?"

"You're in luck—I just asked McCoy this morning how he was doing." The communications officer assured him with a smile, "Sulu's doing just fine. He was treated earlier today and they expect him to be back on duty in a week. The wonders of modern medicine."

Day Twelve

In the mess hall, Chekov looked up as Sulu sat down across from him.

"Good afternoon, sair," the ensign greeted his superior officer. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, pretty good, actually." Sulu mixed around his replicated pasta awkwardly before looking at Chekov again. "I guess I owe you an apology, huh?"

"For vhat, sair?"

"I'm pretty sure you've noticed that I've sort of snubbed you since you came on board," Sulu said. "And I'm sorry."

"Vhat is 'snubbing'?" Chekov asked.

"Trying to pretend that you don't exist," Sulu explained.

Chekov nodded his comprehension. "That is alright, sair." Truth be told, there were times when the ensign _preferred_ to be figuratively invisible.

"No," Sulu shook his head, "it isn't. Why don't you meet Uhura and me in the rec room in a couple of hours?"

"If you vant me to, sair."

"It's your choice, Chekov."

"Oh. Alright. I vill be there."

-

Later, Chekov was wandering around, generally lost. Naturally, he had forgotten to ask in _which_ rec room he was to meet Sulu and Uhura. He poked his head into rec room 1 and, after glancing around, decided that this was the wrong room. Rec room 2 wasn't the right room, but number 3 turned out to be the correct one.

_Thank goodness_, thought Chekov with a sigh of relief. _I almost ran out of rec rooms!_

"Hi, Pasha," Uhura smiled at him, waving him over to the astro-turf soccer field where she and Sulu were kicking a ball back and forth to each other. "I was starting to think you'd gotten lost! Silly, huh?"

"Not _too_ silly," Chekov replied with a sheepish grin.

"I'm glad you found us," Sulu said, nodding. "I guess I forgot to tell you which rec room we were in."

Chekov nodded back and walked over to them. "Vhat are you doing?"

"Just wishing that the ball we're kicking around was Khan," Sulu laughed.

"Khan?"

"A really nasty guy who would like nothing more than to blow the _Enterprise_ to smithereens," Uhura explained. Before Chekov could ask, she added, "That means he'd like to blow the ship to bits."

"Oh." The communications officer kicked the ball to Chekov as she and Sulu spread out a bit to form a triangle. Chekov sent the ball over to Sulu, and Sulu passed it to Uhura. Sulu broke the silence.

"So far you seem to be in the captain's good graces, Pavel." When Chekov elevated his eyebrows, Sulu was unsure whether the ensign was confused with "good graces" or offended that the helmsman had called him by his first name.

"Vhat is 'good graces'?" Chekov finally asked, rolling the ball in Sulu's direction.

"In this case Sulu means that the captain thinks you're doing a good job, Pasha," Uhura informed him.

"Oh. Vell, that is good."

"You didn't mind that I called you 'Pavel', did you?" Sulu wondered aloud.

"Fair is fair, sair. Vhat is _your_ first name?"

"Hikaru."

"No, Hikaru, I did not mind."

"And I'm Nyota. Why don't both of you call me that?" Uhura suggested, looking over to Sulu.

"Okay," Sulu smiled. Chekov, wearing a grin, happily nodded his agreement. This looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

**The End**


End file.
